The Nephilim Protocol

Film Club

"No," Doc tells me. We're in the little museum, and he's looking over an ugly-looking wound in Fish's side. "I don't know anything about that."

"Aren't you a spy?" Mouse asks him. "What else are you doing here?"

"Trying to help you boys. Not that you're making it easy on me." Doc glares at Fish. "I thought I'd told you boys about fights."

Fish, leaning back in the chair, gives a weak grin. "You should see the other guy ..."

"Dude, Mole is twice your size," I say.

For an answer, he holds up his fingers. Even as I'm watching, they light up with a strange kind of energy.

"Not much, right?" He grins. "But it was more than Mole had."

"You're playing with fire," I say. "If Wolfe finds out..."

"She hasn't found out about anyone yet," Fish says. "Destro told everyone what happened last year. No one's talking."

"The local anesthetic should be working now. I'm going to have to cut into this to get the point out," Doc says, reaching for a scalpel. "Remain as still as you can." He cuts a straight line from Fish's rib to halfway down his stomach, then another line in the other direction. An 'x.' With gloved hands, he pulls the flesh back to expose curled-around worm-like things—intestines, I'm guessing.

Fish is holding the arms of the sides of the chair, his eyes wide. "It's really weird to see that and not feel anything," he says.

"Try not to talk." Doc picks up a probe and forceps.

"Why didn't you help the boys last year?" Mouse asks.

"And who says I didn't help the boys?" Doc says, poking around. The forceps grab onto something, and he pulls out a glinting piece of metal. He drops it into the dish on the side.

"Hang on. Did they say you're a spy?" Fish asks.

"I do not spy," Doc says, folding the skin back into place. "I help." He looks at the wound contemplatively, then grabs a small tool on the side—some sort of small iron, with a power cord running off the end—and presses it to the wound. There's a sizzling noise.

"Ai!" Fish almost recoils, but Doc's hand is firm on his shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"The painkiller is working well; you're not feeling anything. This is faster than stitching, and will heal more quickly." Doc lifts the iron, and there's a sizeable burn where the wound was—but it's closed. "Extreme heat seals the wound and kills bacteria, preventing infection." and grabs a padded dressing from his bag, strapping it over the space with a large bandage. "There. The burn will heal, but don't put any strain on it or the wound may reopen."

"Right." Fish nods. "But the spy thing ..."

"Put your shirt back on, and wear this under it." Doc hands him a necklace.

"Why?"

"It's a good luck charm," I say. "Just do it."

Fish slips back into his turtleneck. Mouse and I wait for him to leave before I ask, "Can you think why anyone would attack the girls' camp?"

"Yes." Doc frowns as he clears his tools. "Many reasons. But as to who ... most would have no reason to be so ... clandestine."

"What about me?" I ask. "They say it might be connected with a Pittsburgh attack.... That would be me. Can you think of any reason why anyone would be interested in me?"